Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3))
Page 7
“Sort of in between.”
The hair on the back of John’s neck stood up while Mariote turned as white as a sheet. With a tilt of her head, she mouthed the word that John had been thinking. Wolf?
John couldn’t be certain without seeing it, but his gut told him the chances were it was in fact a wolf.
“Orabilis,” John said as he rushed to catch up to her. “If ye see the dog again, lass, please, come get me, or your mum or one of yer sisters.” He was doing his best to keep the worry out of his voice.
Orabilis’ brow knitted together. “Why? Ye won’t hurt him, will ye?”
John forced a chuckle. “Of course no’. I happen to love dogs. I even had one of me own when I was a wee lad yer age. I merely want to see this big dog of yers to see if he be worthy of bein’ yer pet.”
Orabilis’ eyes lit up at the prospect as she smiled. “Ye mean it? I could keep him as me own?”
“Aye. If he be worthy of ye. Some dogs though, do no’ want to be owned, so he might no’ want to be yers. But I’ll know when I see him if he’d make a good pet or no’.”
Orabilis clapped her hands together and squealed with delight. “He is!” she told him. “He’s a verra good dog. We named him Wulver, after Cailleach Bheur,” Orabilis explained. Cailleach Bheur, the Dark Mother or Harvest Goddess of Highland folklore. ’Twas believed that she turned into a giant gray boulder at the end of winter, on Beltane eve, and remained that way until Samhain, when she springs back to life. Many believed she was also the bringer of storms. Legend had it that she rode the back of a large wolf while swinging a hammer made of human flesh. The wolf’s name was Wulver.
How befitting, John thought to himself.
* * *
They made their way into the small thicket of trees that Orabilis claimed to be the biggest forest in all the land. From a six-year old perspective, it was. John had no desire to tell her it wasn’t so, that there were many bigger and denser woods in this big world. His father would have done just that, quashed the dreams of a little boy, so John decided to do the exact opposite of whatever he felt his father might have done in any given situation.
“Aye, I agree, Orabilis,” he said with a smile. “I do no’ think I’ve ever seen anythin’ so big in all me life.”
For once, Mariote did not humph or snarl with derision. “John be right, Orabilis. ’Tis the biggest forest in all the land.”
John had to smile at Mariote. She didn’t hate everyone, just him, or men in general. The love and adoration she showed her little sister was admirable. Mayhap there would come a time when she hates me less, he mused. Then he remembered he’d only be here until harvest time. He was surprised by the unexpected sense of sadness that thought brought to him. He pushed the sensation down and tried to focus on the task of gathering wood.
Before leaving the cottage, Moirra had given each of them large pieces of cloth and bits of string. John spread his cloth out on the ground and began looking for larger branches and limbs that would be good for burning.
Mariote walked the outer boundary of the forest while Orabilis stayed close to John, asking him questions about his sword.
“Can I have a sword of me own someday?”
“Mayhap, when yer older,” John told her as he pulled a large limb out into the clearing. “As long as it be all right with yer mum, that is.”
“Me da had a sword,” she told him as she picked up a stick and placed it on the cloth. “But I do no’ remember him. I think he would have let me have a sword had he lived.”
Och! He thought. The cunning mind of a child. He smiled at her and patted her on the head. “I imagine he would have, lass.”
Orabilis smiled up at him, glad, he supposed, that he hadn’t argued the point. “They say I look like me da,” she said. “Mariote says I’m prettier than he was.”
John smiled down at her. “I would imagine so, lass.”
“Do ye look like yer da? Or yer mum?”
John’s smile evaporated. He looked very much like his father, minus the permanent scowl, the scar that ran across his father’s cheek and his beard. They had the same dark hair and dark eyes, but that was where any similarities ended. “Me da,” he told her without going into any great detail.
“Do ye miss them? Yer mum and da?” Orabilis asked as she placed another stick on the cloth.
He had absolutely no desire to discuss his family with this sweet child. “Aye, I do.” ’Twas a half truth. He missed his mum and his brothers. His father was an altogether different story. “Step away, Orabilis,” he said as he pulled the small axe from the back of his belt. “I need to chop this up to make it easier to carry.”
Orabilis stepped away and watched as he hacked away at the large limb. With little effort, he cut away the long branches, setting them aside for now. He paused long enough to size up the limb and the best places to cut it. In thirds seemed the most logical choice. They would be easy enough to carry, but not so small that they’d burn far too quickly. In no time, he had the limb cut into thirds and placed onto the cloth.
It hadn’t taken much time to repeat the process on another felled limb. Soon, John’s bundle was sufficiently full, the ends tied with the bits of string. He tied the ends of the cloth off, making a sling of sorts, so that he could carry it on his back.
Orabilis had been helping him, instead of filling her own sack so he set about to help her fill it. ’Twas then that he began to look around for Mariote. “Wheest,” he told Orabilis as he scanned the woods for some sign of Mariote. “Where be yer sister?”
Orabilis looked around for a moment, then faced John. With a shrug of her shoulders, she said, “I dunnae.”
The forest was quiet, far too quiet. He strained his ears to listen as he continued to search for Mariote. Orabilis broke the silence by calling out for her sister. A few birds scattered from the trees overhead, then a deathly silence filled the air as they waited for Mariote to call back. Nothing.
John’s blood ran cold as a shiver went down his spine.
The wolf.
Mariote shook with fear, her feet frozen firmly in place as she stood with her back pressed against a large tree. She would not call out for help, even if she could dislodge the lump from her throat. There was too good a chance that John would come running and the two men who stood before her would kill him. If that happened, the risk that she and Orabilis would fall victim to these men was too great. She’d not risk calling out for help, no matter how strong her desire for rescue.
Memories of a night not long ago flashed before her eyes. She’d been in the barn, alone, when she was attacked from behind… She couldn’t think of that moment or what happened after. Pushing the memory aside, she forced herself to focus on the situation before her.
The two men walking toward her were not strangers. They worked for the sheriff and Mariote had met them months ago when they came with the sheriff to inquire as to the whereabouts of his brother, Delmar Wilgart, who happened to have been handfasting with her mother at the time. She’d been just as terrified of them then as she was now, but for entirely different reasons.
Now, they approached not as underlings for the sheriff, but as men. Men much like Delmar, who looked at her like a wolf about to pounce on innocent prey. Except this time, Mariote wasn’t as innocent and unknowing as she had been when Delmar had made his advances. No, this time she knew what could happen, what might happen if she weren’t careful.
“Leave me be,” she stammered. “I want no quarrel with ye.”
The larger of the two men laughed at her but did not halt his advance. The shorter man paused only long enough to gauge what the larger man would do. He was but a few steps behind his friend. Mariote could smell their foul body odor even with the ten feet of distance between them.
“Quarrel?” the larger man said, feigning innocence. “Lassie, we want no quarrel with ye, either.”
From the look in his eyes, Mariote knew he lied.
“Just a wee kiss is all.”
> Her stomach roiled at the idea of either of these foul smelling, filthy men touching her with their hands, let alone their lips. “Be gone with ye,” she ground out, trying to sound unafraid.
The larger man stopped, stood to his full height and looked offended. “Now, is that any way to be? I mean, me and Harry here were just worried about a pretty lass like ye bein’ out here all alone. We were goin’ to offer ye our protection in exchange fer a wee kiss, and ye go tellin’ us to leave ye be. What kind of men would we be if we did that? Leave a bonny lass like ye all alone?”
Ever so slowly, Mariote slipped her hand into the pocket of her apron and wrapped her trembling fingers around her sgian dubh. “I do no’ want or need yer protection,” she told them firmly. “And I will no’ be lettin’ ye touch me.” I’ll kill ye both before I let that happen.
For a brief moment, he looked hurt, though she knew he was not. Then she saw the anger flicker in his eyes. “Ye be a right mouthy thing when ye consider ye be here all alone,” he said angrily.
The two men took quick steps toward her, making vile threats as they drew nearer. “Ye’ll soon regret bein’ so rude to us, lassie.”
A firm voice came from behind the two men and it stopped their forward advance. “Ye won’t live to regret anythin’ if ye take one more step toward me daughter.”
’Twas John and he looked ready to kill. One hand held his sword, which he now had firmly pressed against Harry’s back. In his other hand, he held his axe against the larger man’s neck. Wisely, and without being ordered to, both men raised their arms.
Mariote had been so focused on the two men that she hadn’t seen John approaching them from behind. Irrepressible relief washed over her and she nearly fell to her knees. No matter her relief, she couldn’t move. Not until these men were either dead or on their way back to the village from whence they came.
“Drop your weapons,” John ordered. “And do no’ think to do anythin’ foolish.”
The men complied, loosening their belts and allowing them to fall to the ground. “Slowly, I want ye to take five steps to yer right.”
The men did as they were told, but not without comment. “We were just havin’ a bit of fun,” the larger man said. He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. But the tremor in his voice gave his fear away.
“We was no’ goin’ to hurt her,” Harry quickly added.
John knew better. He ignored their protests. “Who are ye?” John preferred to know the names of men he killed.
“I be George and this be Harry,” the taller man said. “We work for the sheriff.”
“Is it the sheriff who sends ye this day, to hurt an innocent lass?” John asked through gritted teeth. He suddenly found himself in an awkward position. Were they simply just men of the criminal sort, he’d have no problem justifying killing them in Mariote’s defense.
“Nay,” Harry answered quickly. “We were on our way to see Thomas McGregor. He be George’s cousin.”
He was barely able to contain the rage that built. “And ye happen upon a defenseless, innocent lass and thought ye could do what ye wished with her?”
The men stammered, unable to answer John’s question in a manner that would put them in a better light.
“’Tis what I thought,” John said. “How do men like ye earn the privilege of working for the sheriff or anyone else? Does he, too, take what he wishes without regard?”
More nonsensical answers and stammering ensued.
“Enough!” John barked. “Ye have terrified me daughter and sorely angered me.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “While I would love nothin’ more than to slice yer throats this day for the way ye’ve treated me daughter, I will let ye live.”
Harry came close to falling to the ground with relief. “Thank ye!”
“Do no’ thank me,” John said. “Were it no’ for the fact that ye work for the sheriff and the fact that I want no’ trouble with him, ye’d already be dead.”
John held his sword arm out to Mariote. “Mariote, come here.” Mariote scurried away from the tree and stood behind John, holding on to his plaid with trembling hands. “Gather their swords,” John said over his shoulder. To the men, he said, “On yer bellies.”
Harry and George fell to the ground as John had directed without question or argument. Mariote and Orabilis gathered the swords and held them against their chests. John had already spotted the men’s horses when he had first come upon them.
“Mariote, Orabilis, go hide the swords in the forest, but be quick about it,” John whispered to them as he began to walk backward. Mariote grabbed the sword Orabilis had been holding and together, they raced into the forest.
Raising his voice, John spoke to the men. “Ye count to one thousand before ye move, or I’ll rescind me earlier promise to let ye live.”
“I canna count that high,” Harry said. George growled something unintelligible at him.
John looked heavenward, wondering how such ignorant men were not only allowed to grace God’s earth, but how they came to have any position of power. “Then count as high as ye can and repeat it one hundred times.”
Keeping a watchful eye on the men, John made his way to their horses. He slapped both mounts on their rears which sent them running for the hills. “If I ever catch either of ye near any of me daughters again, I shall no’ be as kind as I was this day.”
John headed into the forest to find his daughters.
* * *
They left the forest as quickly as their feet would carry them. John would not rest easy until he had Mariote and Orabilis back in the cottage. He’d come back later, with his mount, to retrieve the wood they had gathered. They had just reached the path that would take them back home when Mariote’s tears began to fall.
Her tears enflamed his rage toward the two men. He was half tempted to send the girls back to the cottage alone whilst he went back and killed the bastards. But one look at Mariote, whose tears fell off her cheeks, told him she was in no condition to be left alone. Seeing her like this, terrified beyond measure, sickened him.
John put a protective arm around Mariote’s shoulders. “Wheest lass,” he whispered. “We’ll have ye home verra soon.”
She did not pull away or resist his words of comfort or his arm. Instead, she leaned into him and continued to cry.
He had no experience with children, let alone girls of Mariote’s age, from which he could draw. His only experience with young lasses was as a young lad trying to get in their good graces and steal kisses. Or anything else the young lady was willing to offer.
The shame of how he had behaved in his youth was overwhelming. He made a silent and solemn vow, that if he were ever blessed with sons, he would teach them to respect young ladies far more than he ever had. And were he blessed with daughters like these young women, he would teach them that all young men were nothing more than lying bastards with only one thing on their minds. He’d teach his daughters how to defend themselves against such young men. He’d arm them to the teeth with sgian dubhs, and aye, even swords and maces if it meant he could keep them from getting hurt.
“Ye should have killed them,” Orabilis offered as she held on to her sister’s hand. “I would have. I’d have stuck me sgian dubh so far into their hearts, they would no’ have had time to be surprised.”
Though he was surprised by Orabilis’ declaration, he could not fault her for it. Nay, he felt something he could only describe as fatherly pride toward the child. He wouldn’t have to worry about her being able to protect herself as she grew older. Still, he felt he had to offer some sort of fatherly words of wisdom, especially as it pertained to the events in question.
“Aye, Orabilis, I wanted to kill them as well. But,” he explained, “killin’ a man is serious business and no’ a decision to be made lightly. Were they no’ the sheriff’s deputies, I would have done just that.”
Orabilis leaned forward to get a better look at him. “Why no’? Why does it matter who is hurting us?”
From her expression, John could tell she was trying to make sense of it.
Mariote finally spoke up. Between sobs, she explained it better than John had. “He couldn’t kill them because the sheriff would no’ have been happy, Orabilis. Ye ken the man. He’s mean and does no’ understand the meanin’ of the word justice. We all would have been in a good deal of trouble.” She wiped her tears away with her fingertips. “Now, please, I do no’ want to talk about it anymore.” She pulled away from John then, and ran the rest of the way home.
Eight
To say Moirra was furious over what had happened to her daughter would have been an immense understatement. Fuming mad, she paced around the tiny cottage, clenching her hands into fists, cursing like John had never heard a woman do. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified of her wrath or thankful that she was on his side.
“George and Harry are two of the most disgusting, vile, horrible men I’ve ever laid me eyes on!” Moirra seethed. “And that sheriff they work for is even worse!”
Mariote sat in a chair at the table, her hands folded in her lap as she watched her mother. John sat opposite her, watching her as carefully as he watched Moirra. He had never witnessed a woman behave in this manner and he was momentarily stunned by her reaction.
“Moirra,” he said in a low and calm voice. “Mayhap we should send the three younger daughters out of doors fer a spell?”
Moirra stopped mid rant and spun to look at him. Her face was red with rage and for a moment, he thought she would direct all her anger at him. She glanced about the room and saw that Esa, Muriale, and Orabilis were sitting on her bed, huddled together, and looking quite upset.